


Welcome to the Future

by callunavulgari



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Utopia, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blow Jobs, Cyberpunk, M/M, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:37:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m serious, Axel,” Roxas says. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you die. I did that once. It’s not happening again.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Future

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be my entry for the AkuRoku Anthology, but alas, that is probably no longer happening. So I'm going to post this here. The idea for this fic was a dream that I had in 2010 that was incredibly vivid, enough that writing this was like remembering something.

The first word that Axel remembers saying is 'Love'. He’s too young to realize that the L is actually a 1, that the O is actually a zero, the E is a 3, and that it isn’t a name he’s saying, it’s a barcode.   
  
Certainly, he’d said something else first. Mother or Father or even ‘gimme’, but his first memory is of looking at the glittering blue light projecting from his forefinger and happily burbling what he assumed was his AI’s name.   
  
10v3 is in many of his first memories, more so than his mother or his father. Its voice quiet, riddled with static and an accent that was lost to the pages of time. It liked jazz music from the early 20th century and soft piano instrumentals with the occasional saxophone thrown into the mix. Those were Axel’s lullabies, dim blue light throwing shadows around his room as music from an age that Axel’s parents didn’t remember lulled him to sleep.  
  
He remembers waking up from nightmares, tears clinging to his lashes and haunting images played out against the backs of his eyelids to his AI’s voice—patiently soothing him back into sleep.   
  
His tutors would tell him that 10v3 once belonged to a very powerful man, that he should appreciate the fact that his parents shelled out so many credits for him—that used AIs like his are one of a kind. They’d never told him who 10v3 once belonged to, just that the man was powerful enough to put 10v3 amongst the top 10 used AIs in the country. They told him, envy in their eyes, that politicians and presidents only dreamed of having an AI so _vintage_. Axel never thought to actually ask his AI about it—not until much later at least.  
  
.  
  
When he’s twelve years old, 10v3 is the one who talks him out of running away. It has a very specific way of speaking, especially when its disappointed in him.   
  
“You won’t make it out there alone,” it tells him, its voice dry and ever-crackling with static.   
  
“I won’t be alone,” he bites out, still throwing clothes into a bag.   
  
“It’s funny how in three centuries, running away hasn’t changed a bit,” his AI says, as if its laughing at him as he adds a few snacks to the mix. “Grab a bag, throw in _the essentials_.”  
  
There aren’t any toys in his bag, Axel doesn’t have very many of those, but he catches himself reaching for a puzzle box and hisses. “Don’t mock me,” he breathes, suddenly angry. “I thought you weren’t like them. I thought you were my friend.”  
  
There’s a flare of blue light and something vaguely humanoid appears there. 10v3 never appears in one shape, not how some AIs have forms that they favor, even holographically. Axel’s AI, when it chooses to appear as something other than light at the tip of his finger is always blurred, like all its features have been wiped clean.   
  
“Oh Axel,” it sighs. “I am your friend. Why do you think I’m mocking you? I’m not just some program that your parents installed—my subroutines were perfected three centuries ago and trust me, no one, least of all your parents could manage to crack my makers code. I am _yours_.”  
  
Axel’s breath hitches in his throat, and abruptly, he sits. There are tears prickling at the back of his eyelids, blurring his vision. “You’re mine,” he repeats.   
  
Something like a smile creeps across that miniaturized human face. “Yours,” it says, soft with something akin to affection. “Now stop this foolishness and go to your lesson.”  
  
.  
  
He’s thirteen when he gets ‘the talk’, which is absurdly late in life for a kid that lives in a century where everything is on the internet, but whatever, these things happen.  
  
10v3, as it happens, is also the one to actually give him the sex talk. His parents are too busy—have been since he was young—raising their kid is what nanny-bots and personalized AIs are for, and beyond the occasional family dinner his parents absence has been an accepted part of his life since he was six years old.   
  
So his AI is the one who explains why he’s taken to rubbing one out in the sheets when he thinks about his tutors boobs or the way his father’s secretary looks bent over. It’s an embarrassing business, one that makes him squirm and squirm and suddenly be glad that he never had 10v3 installed in his head—where the AI could hear all his thoughts plain as day.  
  
“And that’s the gist of it,” 10v3 finishes, its tone almost laughing. “The penis can go into a variety of orifices, though please, if you plan to go all the way with any boys, let me know so I can order you lube first.”  
  
“Oh my god, Love, shut up,” he whispers, absolutely mortified in the way that only prepubescent boys can be. His AI does laugh at that one—an odd sound that he doesn’t hear often, full of static and warmth.  
  
“Suck it up, kid. You’ll appreciate this talk in a couple years,” 10v3 says, chuckling again when Axel flares up red as his hair.  
  
.  
  
There’s something especially annoying about having an AI that won’t do his homework for him. Most kids' bots fall all over themselves to do anything and everything for their masters unless programmed otherwise—a kind of parental control if the parent in question doesn’t want their kid cheating their way through school or downloading porn too early. Axel’s bot, true to its word, has never had its code touched by his parents. They’ve tried, Axel knows they have. They’ve talked to experts around the world, and no one quite knows what to make of the three century old code—both painfully outdated and oddly futuristic for its time.  
  
So even though there are no parental controls to be seen, he can never manage to talk 10v3 into doing it for him. It will help, of course, patiently walking him through calculus and chemistry, even giving him some pointers on language. It’ll talk to him in dead languages until he’s either forced to get it or have no idea what his AI is saying at any given time—talk equations at him until he’s so sick of number that he wants to puke, but ask it to actually give him the answer to something and it might literally shock him.   
  
“I just don’t get it,” he tells it, carefully moving the brush along his pinky nail. Axel’s just turned thirteen and has recently discovered that painting his nails drives his father insane, so he’s made it his mission to paint his nails the darkest colors he can find every time he’s made to attend an estate dinner. “What’s wrong with giving me the answer? I’ll get the work done faster and have better marks to boot. Win-win scenario.”   
  
He fans his hand out in front of him, examining the paint critically.   
  
“You’re really terrible at that,” 10v3 remarks easily. “And I don’t give you the answers because if I did, you wouldn’t be _learning_ , now would you?”  
  
Axel huffs and uses his thumb nail to wipe some of the paint from his skin. “I’m not terrible, I’m just not practiced. There, that’s better. And hey! It is learning!”  
  
“Not if you want to actually retain the information.”  
  
Axel rolls his eyes and flops back onto his bed. “Learning is for sissies.”  
  
“No,” his AI says, tone almost sickly sweet. “Learning is for awesome people. You want to be awesome, don’t you?”  
  
“Ugh, who even taught you that word? Nobody’s used that word in centuries, you’re such a grandpa.”  
  
Blue light pulses a few times in quick succession, like his AI is _shrugging_ at him. “Sora did,” it says simply, and before Axel can ask who the hell Sora is, 10v3 starts in on explaining yet another too complicated equation.  
  
.  
  
“Axel, your parents are going to _murder_ you,” 10v3 says, flashing blue and red lights against the walls of the tattoo parlor.  
  
“God, please tell me you can shut that thing up, I’m going to have a seizure,” says the woman holding the whirring needle-gun two inches away from his face.  
  
“Don’t you dare turn me off,” his AI snaps, and then, when Axel starts to reach for the connection in his brain— “ _Axel!”_  
  
Its voice cuts off suddenly, the room no longer flashing nauseating colors.   
  
“Oh thank god,” the woman says, pressing the needle to the curve of Axel’s cheekbone.   
  
He flinches and feels oddly sick, so he shuts his brain down—focuses on the whir of the machine in the lady’s hand and the burning pain shooting through every single nerve ending in his body.  
  
He doesn’t think about the fact that this is the first time that he has ever turned 10v3 off. He tries not to think of the guilt.  
  
.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispers later. The gauze taped to his cheeks itches terribly, so he scratches at one corner.  
  
10v3 doesn’t respond.  
  
.  
  
It’s a month and a half before his AI says anything to him and when it _does_ it's while Axel’s getting a blowjob in the bathroom from an overzealous freshman.  
  
Well, he _was_ getting a blowjob.  
  
The freshman spits jizz all over his shoes and 10v3 says, calm as can be, like he hasn’t been absent for over a month, “Ooh, poor form.”  
  
The freshman jerks like he’s been electrocuted and looks around frantically until his gaze settles on Axel’s pointer finger, which is glowing a soft blue where it’s nestled against the curve of the kids jaw.  
  
The kid gives him a look and then whispers, scandalized, “Your AI talks while you have _sex_?”  
  
Axel laughs and laughs, stupidly happy to have it—no, _him_ —back.  
  
.  
  
“Why do you still call me Love?” 10v3 asks one day while Axel is trying (and failing) to perfect his subpar hacking skills.  
  
Axel, neck-deep in complicated code, just kind of hums, shrugging. “It’s your name.”  
  
“No, it isn’t. It’s my _barcode_. You thought it was my name when you were a kid, but you _have_ to know by now that it isn't.”  
  
Axel claws himself free of the code, stares guiltily at the image of a blurred human figure sitting on the edge of his desk. “I just… assumed, I guess. I wasn’t gonna call you 10v3, that would be stupid. Do you… have a name?”  
  
The little figure on his desk kicks one tiny leg made up of ultraviolet light and stays quiet for a moment.  
  
“Yes,” his AI whispers. “I do.”  
  
Code forgotten, Axel scoots his chair closer to the little figure—offering his hand, palm up, for him to climb onto. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, the condensation from his breath making the image flicker with static. “What should I call you?”  
  
“It’s Roxas,” his AI whispers, and for the first time in Axel’s life, the blurred figure adopts human features—big eyes, a boyish jaw, spiky hair. Just as quickly, the image blurs again, but Axel saw it. He _saw_ it.   
  
Axel smiles, bringing the hologram closer to his chest.   
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Roxas.”  
  
.  
  
“Y’know, I’m still gonna call you luuuuurve sometimes though.”  
  
“Oh, shut up.”  
  
.  
  
Sometimes, when Axel has his hand wrapped around his dick, Roxas will offer pointers.   
  
It was funny at first, as hilarious as it was mortifying for his AI to hum softly and go, “You know, if you tighten your grip a little more, your orgasm will be about 10% better.”  
  
Now, it’s somehow different. Still a little funny, but definitely not as mortifying. In fact, after so long, Axel gets to a point where he starts looking forward to it. He’ll shove his hand down his shorts at night, grab hold of his cock, and just wait for Roxas’ voice.  
  
“Grip harder,” or “fuck your fist,” or even “grab the lube, I want to try something.”  
  
It’s weird, probably, but he likes it.   
  
He’s got three fingers buried inside of himself, fucking back onto them and whimpering, and Roxas has lit the world around him with a warm yellow glow.   
  
“Come now,” Roxas says, voice rough with interference, and Axel does.  
  
.  
  
Things go bad sometime in his seventeenth year. His father starts drinking and his mother stops coming home at all. Apparently some political scandal transpired, which he only knows about because of the reporters camped outside his house. He doesn’t know what happened and he has absolutely no intention of looking it up, he just knows that whatever it was, it was bad.  
  
His dad is home more often, something he would have rejoiced over when he was six or seven. Now it just makes him anxious, sticking to his room and the kitchen when he’s home in an attempt to avoid bloodshot, angry eyes and the noxious scent of booze.  
  
“It’ll be okay,” Roxas whispers to him one night in the dark of his room. There are crashing sounds coming from down the hall, and Axel’s heart is going warp speed in his chest.   
  
“I promise, it’ll be all right,” Roxas says again, soothingly.   
  
Moments later, his door is kicked inwards, and Axel flinches beneath the covers, then does his very best to not move at all.  
  
“It’s all your fucking fault,” his father’s voice slurs from the doorway, unsteady footsteps getting closer.   
  
“All your fault,” he snarls. Hands close around Axel’s hair, wrenching at it, jerking him up. He gasps, eyes watering. The walls aren’t glowing blue anymore, and for a horrifying moment he thinks that Roxas might be gone—that Axel might be alone. Then the light at the tip of his pointer finger, the one that almost never goes out, blinks once.   
  
“Make it up to me,” his father slurs and Axel doesn’t even have to see the way he’s fumbling at his pants to get it.   
  
“Axel,” Roxas whispers in the sudden silence. The sound of a zipper being drawn down is horrifyingly loud. “Run.”  
  
Axel’s been taught self-defense by no less than four instructors. He knows what to do.  
  
He runs.  
  
.  
  
Things only get worse from there. He has money—heaps of it. Inheritance from his grandparents, the money his mother’s been adding to his account since he was four, and the little bits that he’s managed here and there.  
  
Getting an apartment of his own isn’t an issue. Neither is getting more clothes since he left everything he owned behind.   
  
Everything kind of sucks for a while. He has to relearn how to live—no servants, no parents, just him, and Roxas in his ear, offering encouragement.   
  
“You can do this,” Roxas tells him, over and over again, voice so fucking sure—like he has every faith in Axel.  
  
Axel knows he can do this. That isn’t the problem.  
  
.  
  
He graduates with honors, even without the tutors. No one goes to his graduation, not even him.  
  
.  
  
The Organization happens sometime after that.   
  
He’s a wealthy young man with a powerful AI and nothing to lose, so of course they find him. Agreeing to be part of them isn’t difficult. He’s made no real move to further his life since graduation a few month previous—he’s bored and they’re offering him a shit ton of money. To a kid on his own, it’s a no brainer.  
  
“This is a bad idea,” Roxas whispers quietly during his first extraction. The mark is a man in his forties, CEO to one of those Fortune 500 companies. It’s all stupidly frivolous and hell, knocking him out and tying him to the chair had been easy as hell. The hardest bit was dismantling the alarms and for that, he’d had Roxas.   
  
Axel scoffs and doesn’t think about why he has no back-up for this first mission. They’re testing him, he isn’t stupid.  
  
“It’ll be okay, love,” he says and presses his pointer finger to the microchip at the back of the targets skull.  
  
And just like that, Roxas is gone. The mark starts awake, gasping, and when his eyes open they’re bright blue and glowing.  
  
“This is weird,” Roxas remarks through the target’s mouth.  
  
Axel nods, his finger twitching against the chip. “You know what to do,” he tells him grimly.  
  
His AI grins at him, bright and out of place on the target’s features, and shuts the mark’s eyes.  
  
When he’s done, there will be nothing left—the man’s secrets downloaded neatly to Roxas’ hard drive, the rest of the brain destroyed.  
  
Axel stands there and watches Roxas take a man apart.   
  
.  
  
During Axel’s third mission, he almost blows himself up. It’s a pretty shitty night, in general, and the only reason he lives through it is Roxas calmly instructing him how to give himself a tourniquet—his AI’s voice keeping him awake as he waits for the extraction team.  
  
A week later, when he’s finally conscious again, Roxas is waiting for him.  
  
“So,” Roxas says, his voice echoing in the quiet recovery room. “Since you’re so determined to blow yourself up, you’re getting me my own bot. I’m not going to just sit here with my thumbs up my ass the next time this happens.”  
  
“You don’t have thumbs,” Axel slurs. He has no idea what kind of drugs they have him on, but whatever they are, they’re good.  
  
The image of a humanoid figure skips up his chest and flicks him in the nose. It hurts, kind of, in the way that getting shocked by random surges of static electricity hurts.  
  
“I’m serious, Axel,” Roxas says. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you die. I did that once. It’s not happening again.”  
  
“You mean Sora?” Axel whispers and Roxas shudders, blue light quivering all around him.   
  
“He—” Roxas starts, his voice crumbling into static. He tries again, voice notably stronger. “I was a direct cerebral implant back then. His brain was my brain, his heart was my heart. He was my best friend, my brother, and I got to sit there while his brain shut down around me.”  
  
He’s quiet for a moment, his light more red than blue. “I felt him die, Axel. I felt him die and then I was stuck there while his brain stopped lighting up, stuck in my brother’s corpse until someone dug me out. I’m not letting that happen again.”  
  
“Okay,” Axel whispers. “We’ll get you a bot, Roxas. Maybe one of those kickass babe bots, like the one Cloud Strife has. What was her name again, Tifa? Or a SOLDIER model, like General Sephiroth’s.”  
  
Roxas coughs, the sound warbly and weird—almost wet. “I get to pick my own,” he says firmly, stomping his little ultraviolet foot on Axel’s chest.  
  
Axel smiles. “Whatever you want, Roxas.”  
  
.  
  
“Oh no,” Axel whispers two weeks later. “Not that one.”  
  
They’re in one of the high end bot stores on the north side of the city, perusing the makes and models as the salespeople look at Axel like he’s gone crazy. Apparently not a lot of people have entire conversations with their AIs in public, but whatever. Axel doesn’t give a shit.  
  
Roxas laughs, his voice tinny and static-crinkled as always. The saleslady at the other end of the aisle looks startled by the noise, like she didn’t know that AI’s could laugh.  
  
“Fine,” Roxas agrees. “Not that one.”  
  
Roxas is apparently very picky. He’d hated all the badass buxom lady bots, tolerated the androgynous-looking goth bots, and hadn’t even let Axel walk down the aisle with all the big, burly ones.   
  
Now they’re just going from aisle to aisle, laughing at the ridiculous models and joking about the people who made them. Axel’s just about to make a crack at going to look at the sex bots when Roxas whispers, voice gone kind of funny, “Stop.”  
  
Axel stops, staring at the model that Roxas is looking at.   
  
It’s a scrawny little thing, one of the models typically used as babysitters, designed to look like someone a parent would want to trust—big blue eyes, slender boyish frame, unruly blonde hair. There are freckles even, dusted faintly across the bridge of its nose. It’s one of the male models, sandwiched between two of its sister models—one with dark hair and the other with pale. All three of them share the same stature and look of almost cherubic beauty.  
  
“That one?” Axel asks incredulously. “Are you sure? Are the babysitter models even equipped with self-defense capabilities?”  
  
“Of course they are,” Roxas scoffs. “They’re _babysitters_. Most high class families use them, of course they’d be able to beat up would-be kidnappers.”  
  
“Huh,” Axel says, running his fingers across the bot’s cheekbones. Roxas makes a choked little noise before going quiet.   
  
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “That’s it. That’s the one I want.”  
  
Axel shrugs, but honestly, it does feel right.  
  
“Did you find what you need, sir?” the saleswoman asks, turning a pearly smile in his direction.  
  
“Y’know what, I think we have.”  
  
.  
  
The installation goes well, though Roxas gets weirdly shy in the days before its scheduled. The Roxas-bot sits on the far-side of his couch while they’re waiting for the installation guy. It would be collecting dust, but Axel takes it upon himself to dust it every day, and only feels slightly awkward.   
  
It’s creepy, just sitting there blank-eyed, and he freaks himself out more than once when he goes to the kitchen in the middle of the night for water. At least it’s clothed though—Axel had broken down and wrestled its limbs into a t-shirt and a pair of his sweat pants the first day after it had shipped, buck ass naked. All bots apparently came with working genetalia, even the babysitter ones. Axel had thought it weird at first, but Roxas had explained later that there was a feature that allowed the parents to kind of 'disable' the bot’s junk.  
  
“It’s just… staring at me,” Axel had whined the day previous, moving his chair to the other side of the room. “And I don’t want to sit on the couch next to it, I keep expecting it to move.”  
  
Roxas had sighed loudly. “Just throw a sheet over it or something if it’s that big of a deal.”  
  
“But that’s gonna be you! I can’t do that to something that’s going to be you!” he’d said, affronted, and that, apparently, was that.  
  
The installation guy has a skeevy smile and hands that wander a bit too much, touching the bot in places that Axel really doesn’t think he needs to as he’s prepping it for the transfer.  
  
“Gotta make sure everything’s in working order,” he says with a lecherous grin, palming the Roxas-bots crotch. The tip of Axel’s pointer finger flashes red, then blue, then red again.   
  
“Dude, seriously, it’s fine. We’ll figure it out later, okay?” Axel says, blushing as the guy tugs on the bot’s junk until it twitches.  
  
“I’ll bet you will,” the guy laughs, and thankfully stops.  
  
“Alrighty,” he says a few minutes later. He gestures to a small port at the back of the bot’s skull. “Press your finger there and don’t move it until your AI tells you its fully integrated, okay?”  
  
Axel starts forward, only hesitating when his finger is hovering just over the port. He looks at the tech guy, waiting on the bot’s other side. “Uh, can you give us some privacy?” he asks nervously.  
  
The guy gives him a bemused look, but eventually shrugs. “It would be better if I was here in case something goes wrong, but whatever dude. I’ll be in the next room.”  
  
Axel watches him go, waiting for the door to shut before he turns back to the bot. “You sure you still wanna do this?” he asks Roxas quietly. “I know you’ve been nervous.”  
  
Light pulses twice before Roxas speaks. “Hell yeah, I’m nervous. Besides those marks and the few times Sora let me pilot his body, I’ve never had one. Definitely never one that’s _mine_. But yeah, I wanna do this. I… I wanna be there to protect you. I want to be able to hug you when you’re feeling shitty. I want to—”  
  
He cuts himself off, and has to take a minute before he continues. “I just wanna be with you,” he says. “And not just as a chip in your finger.”  
  
“Okay,” Axel whispers, taking a deep breath.  
  
He presses his finger to the port.  
  
It feels weird. Different than installing Roxas in a temporary mark—it feels more permanent, like he can feel Roxas draining out of him. It takes a long time too, minutes of Roxas’ code transferring to the chip implanted in the folds of synthetic brain tissue.   
  
After what feels like an eternity, the bot twitches. After another minute, it does it again.  
  
Axel watches as those blank, blue eyes fill with emotion—with Roxas—consciousness flooding through its wires for the first time. It blinks.  
  
“Holy hell, this is weird,” Roxas says, eyes widening as he jerkily lifts his hands to his face. He stares at them, turning them over—examining all the little details; the hairs on the back of his hands, the creases of the palm, the little acrylic nails. “Really weird.”  
  
Axel grins, his hand still cradling the back of Roxas’ skull, finger pressed to the port. “Think I can move yet?” he asks, his grin widening when Roxas blushes.  
  
“Uh yeah, go ahead. Pretty sure I’m fully assimilated.”  
  
“Well, if you’re only _pretty sure_ I should probably just stay where I am for a little while longer,” he teases, stroking the little hairs at the nape of Roxas’ neck.   
  
It’s a wonder to watch the way Roxas’ lashes flutter as he presses back into Axel’s touch. “How’s that feel?” he whispers, bringing his other hand up so he can cradle the curve of Roxas’ jaw. It feels like skin, so real that Axel wouldn’t be able to tell Roxas from another human if he didn’t know better.  
  
He feels the way Roxas swallows, his pulse jumping against Axel’s palm.  
  
“I can _feel_ ,” Roxas whispers, looking at him in wonder, a grin pulling shy-slow at his lips.  
  
Axel grins back at him, his own heart jumping in his chest, his entire body screaming at him that _this is it, this is it, kiss him, just kiss him already._  
  
He doesn’t get the chance—because in that couple seconds that he’s caught in indecision, Roxas smiles happily at him and seals their lips together.  
  
His lips are soft—so fucking soft, and they feel like skin too, the only noticeable alienness about the kiss is the way that Roxas doesn’t really taste like anything—not the way that humans taste like spit and whatever they’d eaten recently. He tastes very faintly of the sugar water that nourishes him, but that’s it.   
  
He feels good. A bit unsteady when he wraps his arms around Axel’s shoulders, a little sloppy when he leans in to deepen the kiss, and cold—his body’s still room temperature since his heat sensors hadn’t been on until a couple minutes ago, but it’s a nice kind of chilly.   
  
“Fuck,” he whispers against Roxas’ lips, and Roxas makes a little noise in the back of his throat, like he’s agreeing, and climbs into his lap.   
  
He throws his head back and moans when Roxas rocks their hips together. Distantly, he hears the tech guy shout something about assuming that everything went well and being billed later, but he ignores it, too caught up in the exquisite creature on top of him.  
  
They make out like teenagers, rutting against each other frantically until Axel comes in his pants like he’s fourteen again. He takes a minute to catch his breath as Roxas grinds up against him, still hard, and for a moment he feels incredibly stupid that he just came before the robot who has never even experienced sensation before.   
  
Roxas apparently catches the look, because he rolls his eyes, and flicks Axel in the nose. “I was programmed to have fantastic stamina, Axel, jesus. Didn’t you even read the manufacturer’s handbook?”   
  
Axel, who did not read any handbook, just stares. “There was a handbook?”   
  
Roxas’ laugh trails off into a moan of disappointment as Axel squirms out from under him and slides off the couch. When Roxas tries to follow him he wraps his hands around Roxas’ waist and firmly sets him back on the couch. “Stay,” he says, mockingly severe, and yanks the sweatpants down Roxas’ hips.   
  
He’d seen the bot’s dick before—hell, that had been the reason he put the sweatpants on it in the first place—but apparently bots are growers, not showers, because Roxas’ shiny new dick is bigger than he remembered. Not monster dick huge, but big enough that he feels a bit anxious when he leans forward and wraps his lips around the head.  
  
He sucks, long and slow, hollowing his cheeks out and swirling his tongue around the slit. The whimper that comes out of Roxas’ mouth is reassuring, so he starts working his way down the shaft, taking a bit at a time until he’s got the head bumped up against the back of his throat, threatening to trigger his gag reflex. He swallows, deliberately, and hums happily when Roxas curses and grabs two fistfuls of Axel’s hair.  
  
It’s odd, being with someone who knows so much about him. Roxas, who was there for his first handjob and blowjob, given and received—who was with him the first time he went all the way with one of his dad’s secretary’s, her legs clenched around his hips for the whole two seconds that he was pounding into her. Roxas knows all his kinks, knows that Axel likes to have his hair yanked when he’s going down on someone, knows that he likes to get shoved around a little bit, and that he has an erogenous zone behind his goddamn ear, of all places.  
  
Roxas knows everything about him, and he uses that shamelessly, so that by the time Roxas is coming down his throat, Axel’s halfway to hard again.  
  
“So,” Axel says after Roxas has finished him off for a second time. “How was your first thirty minutes having a body?”  
  
Roxas rolls his eyes, sluggishly reaching over to smack him in the shoulder. “Sensation overload,” is all he says.   
  
Axel should be worried. He still has to see whether or not Roxas’ new body will hold up in combat. He has to see to installing a backdoor in case something happens to it. Eventually, he’s going to have to leave the Organization. But for now, he’s perfectly content cuddling with his AI.  
  
Everything else can come later.   
  



End file.
